Outside my shack, mug in hand, I felt nature on my skin. I took in the forest, the dark spaces between the trees, the haphazard arrangement of limbs, logs and undergrowth, the tangle of nature. I listened to the chirrups, the squawks, the chatter, and the steady drone of my generator beneath it all.
My tea had gone cold. I tossed the dregs on the soil at my feet. A stray bull ant went over for an inspection. I watched its sly movements before kicking up dust with my boot to shoo it on its way.
The sun arced towards its zenith. I went back inside and grabbed my boning knife, satchel and car keys. Con’s meat was in a bucket on the passenger seat, covered, but on the way down to Cann River I could smell the bloodied flesh.
It was with some disappointment that I made my way to the highway i
